


The four times Harry met Mycroft

by BleedingBishop



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, If I could we could totally say pre slash so we will, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:49:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21875446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingBishop/pseuds/BleedingBishop
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad & Mycroft Holmes
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	The four times Harry met Mycroft

Harry first met Mycroft when he was only starting out at Kingsman - a handsome young man with a flop of hair that, he had been assured on multiple occasions, was devastating. 

A wet evening in summer had resulted in Harry being put in the front of house, covering for another tailor who had been brought into higher affairs. That same wet evening brought a drenched young man with a leather satchel to the steps of the Kingsman tailors, and quietly into the building.

“Good evening.” Harry smiled at the sodden stranger and delighted in the quick, dainty approach.

‘Like a round little robin, a cheeky little wren hopping from ground to tree.’

“I would like- I need to speak to whoever is in charge.” Harry was taken aback at the sudden determination the young man showed.

“My manager is-”

“No. I mean, I want whoever is in charge of Kingsman - I. want. who. is. in. charge.”

“Uh… What do you me-” The grasp of Grahame, a long time Tailor with Kingsman, on Harry’s shoulder stopped his questioning.

“Can I help? I’m Grahame.”

“A pleasure. I need to speak to whoever is in charge of Kingsman.”

“The manager isn’t-”

“I want to know who to talk to about George.”

Harry didn’t feel the atmosphere change, but the grip on his shoulder tightened enough for the young trainee to notice.

“I’m afraid we cannot talk about our clientele.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can!” the young robin barked, and with grace, his heavy frame hid, ran up the stairs beyond the front desk.

“Harry, stay here, don't let anyone else go up these stairs.” Grahame nodded to his younger colleague and took off up after robin.

Harry took his request under serious advisement, before running to the door, turning the bold ‘Open’ sign to closed, and quickly followed him up the stairs.

____

The man had run into two rooms before Grahame managed to catch up with him - Unfortunately, that room was a meeting room.

The four gentlemen around the table looked nonplussed to have been disturbed by a rain-soaked stranger.

“Who is in charge here?”

“Who are you?”

“I want to know who is in charge! Who do I talk to abou-” Grahame jumped forward at this point.

“Sir, forgive me, this man was just leaving-”

“No, I was no-”

“Yes, he was.” Grahame grabbed him by the shoulders and began to pull him back out, with a strength unusual in a tailor.

“No, don’t, I need-”

“Thank you, Grahame.” The gentleman at the head of the table called over the commotion.

“Of course, sir.”

“I NEED TO TALK TO WHO KILLED,” The man wrenched off his bag and threw it at the table, where it spat its contents over the varnished wood “, GEORGE!”

The four gentlemen quickly threw themselves from the table at the sudden appearance of an unidentified object being thrown at them, and Grahame threw the man to the floor in a violent smack of flesh against the varnished wood flooring. 

____  
This was the second time Harry met Mycroft - Ruddy cheeks smashed against the floor, eyes squished shut as tears leaked down his long freckled nose.  
____

“What on earth….” Harry murmured from his place in the doorway to this dramatic scene.

Grahame frowned at him but nodded towards his prey.  
“Galahad, help me contain this, we’ll need to restrain and interrogate.”

“Yes, Percival.” 

Percival relinquished custody of robin to Harry, who had the sudden experience of being given an armful of handsome trouble. The young robin didn’t resist, which Harry was thankful for, but he was more interested in the reason for his sudden disruption.

As it appeared, so were the rest of the Kingsman agents who had assembled around the flurry of pages that had fallen from his robin's bag.

“Galahad, take him to security. Quickly.” Arthur ordered in his sly tone of voice, and Galahad did as he was told.

____

The third time Harry met Mycroft, he was sat in a secure cell/ interrogation room in the bowels of the Kingsman Tailor shop. A decade onward would see it become a second armory, but for now, he stood watching his robin bravely hide how scared he was.

____

Gawain, Lancelot, and Arthur joined him in the side room a little over an hour later.

All three looked at him, asking how their suspect was, and Galahad replied in kind.

‘No trouble.’

Arthur, armed with what looked like three sheets of what his robin threw at him, entered the opposing room alone.

“How did you come by this information?” Arthur asked, his tone professional.

“Who killed George? Was it you?” his robin didn't seem to care how much trouble he was in - if anything, he seemed to revel in it.

“Where did you get this information?” Arthur spread the three pages across the table between them.

“Where did you hide George's body?”

Harry frowned at this, not liking what was being implied at all.

“What do you know about these groups?” his superior asked, pointing to two parts of the third page.

“Groups? These are the people that killed George DeWinter, and if you think for one second I’m telling you where I found this information without anything from you as to where his body is you have another thing coming!” his robin growled, and the way his eyes glittered with tears made Harry’s throat thicken in sympathy. Not sympathy, of course, but… well, sympathy would be the word if his robin hadn't intentionally broken into a secret security service and threatened them with… whatever was in his bag.

“George DeWinter?”

“Yes, you monster. I don’t suppose you take names of those you murder, just onto the next one like beasts. George DeWinter. Why is he dead? Who killed him? Where is his body?” The young man demanded angrily, emotions overcoming him as he stood and cried in front of the head of the Kingsman Agency.

“Who are you to know that name?”

“I ask you the same question, why should I not get an answer and you should?”

“One would think you would understand the trouble you were in already.” Arthur raised an eyebrow, and Harry watched his robin mimic it perfectly.

“I was dead the minute I walked into your secret terrorist tailor house, what do I care what you do to me? You all murdered an innocent man for discovering something accidentally; who knows what you would do to someone who figured it out on purpose! So yes, I do understand the trouble I’m in, and nothing you do is going to scare me away from getting my- my, my questions answered.”

Arthur paused after the little impassioned speech.

“Who was George DeWinter to you? George had no children.”

“Don’t you dare say his name - he was a good man, more than I imagine you ever could be!”

“Then who are you?”

“Mycroft. Mycroft Vernet. Rudyard Vernet’s son.” Harry didn’t understand why this name was so stunning, but both Gawain and Lancelot recognized it.

“... George DeWinter was a Kingsman Knight working undercover in MI6 for the majority of his working career. He was Guinivere. The rumors around his affair with Rudyard Vernet were unconfirmed, until now, apparently.” Gawain murmured to Galahad, filling him in.

“Guinevere? There isn’t a knight called Guinevere.” Galahad retorted.

“Agent Guinevere's role is to work alongside Arthur to combat international efforts to target Kingsman agents and our work. Arthur is the only one who communicates with Guinevere on a day to day basis, but we hear from them. Guinevere was assassinated in Catalonia only one month ago.”

The trio was brought back to the entertainment by Arthur taking a seat.

“George was Vernet’s lover, was he not?”

He received an angry nod. 

“And he took it to his grave. Took us, too. George didn’t work for MI6.”

“Oh? So he worked for you?” Mycroft asked.

“He worked with us. George, as you have discovered, was a Kingsman Agent.”

“Kingsman is…”

“Like you discovered, Kings-”

“I don’t care what you do, what he did! I don’t care for his secrets, I want his body! I want him h-home! Rudy and I have a place for him, we have a plot for him! I don’t care what he did, that's your prerogative - mine is finding what happened to him and getting him home. Home, do you understand? Rudy and I deserve him home.”

Arthur didn’t continue.

Galahad didn’t either.

“George DeWinter does not have any living relatives. We couldn’t relea-”

“Oh piss the fuck off and the inbred horse you waddled in on!” Mycroft growled. Arthur raised his eyebrow again.  
“Like a Spy agency cares about lawfully releasing a corpse, let alone anything else lawfully!”

“How old are you, son?” Arthurs sly tone of voice set the rest of the Knights on edge.

“17, and I’ll thank you to remove the word son from your mouth when talking to me - I have one parent and you are refusing me the freedom to see the next closest thing I have resting in peace with his family.” 

“17 is a young age to be incarcerated for a security leak.”

“When will you understand this? I don’t care. Just give us George’s body. Please. The- the-” Mycroft’s hands faffed over the few pages in front of him “, The morticians' documents I sourced said he was poi-poisoned…” He took a deep breath “, so there's no cover story to hide, yes? There’s no reason to not let us bury him.”

“And how did you source them, Mycroft?”

“No. Not a word until you tell me where my uncle can find George’s body.”

“Are you no longer interested in finding it yourself then?” Arthur’s tone was bland, but this didn't seem to ease the tension in Gawain and Lancelot.

Mycroft sat back in his seat and folded his arms with finality.

“Not it, him. And again, I don’t care. I was dead the minute I set foot in here. If you don’t kill me for finding out your organisation, the government will, for whatever reason they like. None of this information was given to me, obviously. Not intentionally, anyway. I’m a threat.”

“And you are okay with this?”

“What else could I have done? George is Family. That’s it. That’s all the reason I need.”

“And your Father?”

Mycroft didn’t look away, nor did he answer. The two didn’t look away from each other for a few minutes, and Harry felt them drag through every second.

“Very well. George DeWinter's body will be released to Rudyard Vernet as soon as you have explained your sources. We shall go from there. Gawain.”

Galahad and Gawain looked at each other before Gawain walked into the room.

“Yes, Arthur?” Arthur didn’t turn away from Mycroft.

“Agent Guinevere's body, where was it recovered from?”

“Catalonia. Currently embalmed and in our mortuary in London.”

“Release it to our public office, contact Rudyard Vernet. Young Vernet will explain himself in the meantime.”

“Consider it done.”

Gawain immediately exited and raised his eyebrows to Lancelot and Galahad as he passed by on his way out.

“Lancelot and Galahad, you are free to go.”

Lancelot grit his teeth and walked away, Arthur having previously drawn him up on not following directions before.

Harry watched his robin, Mycroft, for a moment longer, before returning to his position in the front of the house. 

___

The fourth and final time Harry met Mycroft was 4 hours later, as he looked up from his books at the Kingsman house. A round young man with the mad red curls of an air-dried ginger walked past the shop, hand enclosed around the calling card of a Harold Lansdown - or Arthur, to his colleagues.

Harry and Mycroft didn’t meet again, however, before the year was out, Galahad had the repeated pleasure of being introduced to, and communicating with, the new Agent Guinevere - A round young man, hair now a dark hickory, now 18 years old and impressing MI6 with his knowledge and skills like his predecessor had.


End file.
